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Anne leans over and asks, “So you into all guys now, or is this just a Whit thing?”
I look at the door where Whit disappeared, and I shrug, “Think it’s just a Whit thing. He’s it for me, you know.”
She nods. “Yeah, when you know, you know.”
“Yeah,” I agree, and then my future musings are interrupted by Liam, Sem, and Luke shouting for me.
CHAPTERFOURTEEN
“This is not working,” Whit says, frustration evident in his voice as the gears grind loudly. He clutches the stick shift and tries to put it into gear, but it lurches forward and dies instead.
I laugh softly and then cover my hand with his.
“You got this, babe. Don’t get discouraged. Betsy just needs a little coaxing.”
Whit huffs and shoots me an annoyed look. “I hate Betsy.”
I pat the dashboard and shake my head, “Betsy, don’t listen to him. He’s just a grump who hates not being perfect at something.”
Whit grumbles something under his breath, pushes the clutch in, and starts the truck again. He shifts it into gear, and we lurch forward.
I hang onto the oh-shit bar as he moves into second gear, the engine whining as he does.
“You got this,” I tell Whit as he maneuvers the truck over the uneven ground of my aunt and uncle’s property.
“I don’t think I do,” he says, but he keeps the truck from dying as we traverse the open land.
“Up this hill,” I say, and Whit shakes his head.
“No way.”
“Come on, Whit,” I say. “Live a little.”
“This truck has no doors. The seatbelts look flimsy. That hill looks too steep.”
“It’s not that steep.”
“What if we tip over.”
“Rolling isn’t a big deal.”
Whit stops the truck, and it dies. Then he turns to look at me, his eyes serious.
“Caleb. You’re not to roll large machines. Ever. Again. I forbid it.”
I smile softly at him. “You worried about me?”
“Of course, I am. You’re…reckless.”
“Nah, babe. I’m living.” I say, and then I hop out of the truck and slide in next to him, using my strength to move him to the passenger side.
“You will not…” he says frantically. But I chuckle evilly, revving the engine loudly, and Whit scrambles to put his seatbelt on. It clicks, and Whit grabs onto the bar in front of him, his knuckles white. Then I’m revving forward, shifting from first to second gear as Whit mutters curses under his breath.
Wheels spin as we make our way up the rocky hill, and Whit’s gone a lovely shade of white.
“You’ve got this, Betsy,” I say, and Whit turns to glower at me and then scolds, “Caleb van Beek put your seatbelt right now.”
I smirk at him as we skid and slide our way up to the top of the hill. At one point, we get stuck, and I have to stop the truck. We’re tilting slightly, and Whit’s promising to do all sorts of filthy things to me.
